


The Way of Things

by Emmeebee



Series: QLFC Season 5 [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Gen, The Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-23
Updated: 2017-06-23
Packaged: 2018-11-18 00:35:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11280075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emmeebee/pseuds/Emmeebee
Summary: Albus Dumbledore tries his hand at pickup lines.





	The Way of Things

**Author's Note:**

> Written by Chaser 1 of Montrose Magpies for the Daily Prophet's Issue 2 competition.
> 
> Task: choose 1-5 pickup lines and write a 300-600 drabble featuring them and a teammate's NOTP.
> 
> NOTP: McGonagall/Dumbledore (Beater 2)
> 
> Pickup lines used:
> 
> 1\. "The Sorting Hat has spoken, and it says that I belong in your house."
> 
> 2\. "You must play Quidditch; I know a Keeper when I see one."
> 
> 3\. "I might as well be under the Imperius Curse because I'd do anything for you."
> 
> Thank you to my teammates for betaing this for me.
> 
> Word count: 597 on Google Docs

"The Sorting Hat has spoken," Albus Dumbledore, the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, said with a gravity that befit his illustrious position, "and it says that I belong in your house."

Minerva McGonagall stared up at her colleague in shock, her brain struggling to process the words that had just come out of his mouth. When he had called her into his office, she had assumed that he wanted to discuss the upcoming Yule Ball. Instead, his first words had been utter gibberish; he had been sorted into Gryffindor long before she was born, so she had no idea why he had made that statement as if it were new information. "I'm afraid I don't understand. Is this some kind of joke, Albus?"

His eyes narrowed the way they always did when he was trying to solve a particularly difficult problem. "Let me try again," he said before clearing his throat loudly. "You must play Quidditch; I know a Keeper when I see one."

"Don't be ridiculous," she scoffed, shaking her head in disdain. "You know I was a Chaser."

"I might as well be under the Imperius Curse because I'd do anything for you," he continued, but this time it sounded more like a question than a statement.

Rising to her feet, Minerva took a hesitant step towards him. "Do you feel ill? Did someone confound you? Is this some kind of code?"

He shook his head at the first two questions but hesitated at the last. "Of a sort. I was being figurative, and I suppose that is a kind of code, is it not? You see, my dear Minerva, I overheard some students arguing about the art of the pickup line the other day and thought I should try my hand at it."

"So this _is_ a joke," she said, having heard of the concept from Dougal in their youth.

His blue eyes twinkled like twin sapphires as he watched her, and her back tensed at the heat that infused his gaze. "No."

A sense of unease grew within her as she pieced together his meaning. In another life, she might have been amenable to the idea, but she had already found and left her soulmate. Anything else would pale in comparison. And while Albus was a good friend and an excellent ally, she knew that they would drive one another mad if they were ever to court or —worse still — _wed_.

"Albus," she murmured, her quiet voice filled with discomfort.

He leaned back in his chair and set his interlaced hands upon the desk in front of him. "Ah. I see," he said. And then, bless him: "How are the dancing lessons progressing?"

Minerva frowned as she remembered the reluctant, half-hearted shuffling of her students. "Abominably. You would think that I was preparing them for a battlefield rather than a ballroom. In fact, I think some of them would be happier if I _were_ preparing them for a battlefield."

He smiled, but his eyes spoke of hard-earned wisdom rather than true amusement. "The follies of youth," he said dryly.

"Indeed."

They sat in companionable silence for a few moments. Minerva was glad that he had changed the subject; it signalled that he held no hard feelings for her rejection. Of course, she would have expected nothing else from him.

"I suppose you have essays to mark," he said.

"I do. They never seem to end." She rose to her feet, recognising the polite dismissal for what it was. "But that is the way of things, I suppose."


End file.
